


Stolen Moments

by a2zmom



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fingerfucking, Kink Meme, Post-Canon, Public Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-07
Updated: 2008-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a2zmom/pseuds/a2zmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>written for thecarlysutra's kinkathon.</p></blockquote>





	Stolen Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [southernbangel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=southernbangel).



"Who's she waiting for?" Hiding in the hallway only the very edges of her curly blonde hair was visible.

"I bet it's that guy." She was a head taller and her blue-black skin gleamed in the dim light.

"Tim? She's never seemed that excited before."

"Definitely not Tim." The redhead peeked out between her friends. "Tim is just one in a long line."

The tall girl nodded. "First there was Justin and then Ian and Charley and now Tim."

"You forgot Walter."

"She's been with all those guys?" The blonde's eyes opened wide.

"You haven't been here that long. But none of them are important." The tall black girl gave a shrug. "But this one---"

"Is way different than the other ones," the redhead finished up.

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Buffy opened the door before Angel knocked. She gazed at him, drinking in the sight. He stopped on the landing as soon as the door swung open, slowly letting his eyes wander over her body. She was wearing a strapless midnight blue silk sheath. A soft smile overtook his features.

"Two days." It was a question, statement and exclamation all at once.

"Well, the coven doesn't see anything on the horizon at the moment. We just took down that demon cult and all's quiet on the western front. Eastern front? Whatever front we're fronting."

Angel smiled. "Nothing's happening in my neck of the woods either. So…" he reached out and grabbed her hand. "remember what you said last time I managed to get out here?"

"I don't remember a lot of talking at all," she said, a slight blush evident in her cheeks.

"You said that it would be nice sometime to go somewhere together. A coupley thing." They walked down the steps together, fingers loosely entwined.

Had she said that? She supposed that she had mentioned something to that effect in passing. She suspected that Angel memorized every word she had ever babbled, treating them as profound pronouncements.

She turned and looked at him thinking about the broad shoulders, narrow hips and firm ass that his perfectly tailored suit kept hidden. Looking at him, she was tempted to tell him that running directly to his hotel room seemed like a more enticing option. But then she caught sight of his face and his contented look changed her mind. He wanted to give her something perfectly normal and she knew how happy it would make him. Plus with forty-eight whole hours in front of them, there would be plenty of time to ravish him later.

Buffy couldn’t help giggling when she saw Angel’s tiny hire car. "You sure you can fit into that thing?" He scowled without answering as he slid behind the wheel.

They drove in comfortable silence, engaging in occasional shop talk. Buffy decided that this was a better idea than she had first suspected. Almost everything she did was related in some way to her job. Yes, she shopped and she went places and she just hung around with Willow, but even then she was acutely aware of all the other slayers who now depended on her leadership. Officially, as of this moment, she was on a date with her boyfriend and she was just Buffy Summers.

As they walked in through the entranceway, Buffy's eyes widened in appreciation. The restaurant had a quiet elegance about it, from the understated tapestries lining the walls, to the freshly starched white linen tablecloths, to the black bowties every member of the wait staff was sporting. Soft jazz was playing at a volume that wouldn't interfere with conversation, the wall sconces lent a soft glow to the surroundings and every dish of food she spied made her mouth water in anticipation.

After leaving their coats at the coat check, they were quickly escorted to their table by the maitre d'. Looking over the menu, every single dish sounded scrumptious and she felt like she'd never be able to choose. Finally, she decided on risotto with seafood. She glanced over at Angel and realized that he was having an even harder time deciding although probably not because an overabundance of options was calling to him.

"The breast of duck with a dark cherry sauce on a bed of wild rice sounds good." He flashed her a grateful smile and called the waiter over.

The sommelier arrived a few minutes later and Angel and he began to converse. Buffy's knowledge of wine was pretty much limited to "white or red" so she quickly tuned them out. However, her ears perked up when she heard the words "woody" and "body" and she hoped that neither man had a clue as to the risqué images that now ran through her mind. She was going to try her damnedest to wear Angel out once they were alone.

She could tell that the wine master was both impressed and excited to discuss the extensive list with someone so obviously knowledgeable. She watched as both men came to some sort of agreement. A few minutes later, the sommelier was pouring a tiny amount of red wine into Angel's glass. Angel savored it, rolling it around his mouth and then nodding. A full glass was then poured for Buffy and Angel's glass was topped off, the bottle left behind.

"Try it," Angel urged.

"It's going to be wasted on me. A fifteen dollar bottle means I've hit the big time." Angel simply smiled and waited. Her eyes opened up as she took several small sips. "That's, just, wow. I can taste all these different tastes, chocolate and leather and oranges and, that's seriously delish." She looked at him suspiciously. "You can taste all that?"

He shrugged. "I can tell it's a good wine, but no, my senses can't pick up most of the subtleties. I thought you might like it."

"So, how's Connor?" A wide smile split Angel's face. Connor was the one subject that Angel would happily expound on at great length and in great detail. He had just opened his wallet to show Buffy his latest photos when their food arrived.

She took a bite of her risotto and came close to moaning in ecstasy She honestly didn't think she had ever tasted anything so delicious. She flicked her eyes over to Angel. He had also taken a bite and she could tell that it held no appeal for him. He had once told her that there wasn't a lot of difference between food and sawdust as far as he was concerned.

This was all for her. He had set this all up to make her happy. She wasn't sure how to thank him, so instead she reached over and squeezed his hand for a moment. As they pulled apart from each other, his hand, instead of straying back to his lap, floated down until it rested lightly on her stocking clad knee. A flash of heat rocketed through her body, even though she knew his intent wasn't sexual.

Each time they came together, he would choose some innocuous body part and explore every inch of it. His fingers would lightly trace her bones, his thumb would probe every contour, his hand would map her muscles and tendons and ligaments. She had never known why until fourteen months ago when she had figured it out. They had only had a half a day together that time and when they had parted; he had accidentally left behind a small sketchpad. She had no business looking through it, but once she found it, she couldn't resist.

There were sketches of his friends, the vast majority faces she didn't recognize. Drawings of Connor. Drawings of her also. And then were quite a few pages of a foot. Just a foot, drawn from all angles, all poses. Then realization hit. Her foot. The prior time they had come together, he had spent a long time fondling her foot. She wouldn't have thought a foot was a particularly erogenous zone. She knew better now. But now she also knew that hadn't been his main purpose. He was attempting to know her by heart, one piece at a time.

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Angel was aware that most people thought knees were ugly. Of course, he wasn't most people. At the moment, his fingers were whisping over the back of Buffy's left knee, so lightly that it could be mistaken for her chair briefly rubbing against her skin. She knew it wasn't though and he felt her stiffen ever so slightly under his touch. He drifted his fingers along her kneecap, memorizing the way the cartilage dimpled. Once he was back across the ocean, bereft of her he would draw her knee over and over, until the exact contour of it is was as well known to him as his favorite broadsword.

"How's the gang?"

Angel inwardly smiled. He knew that Buffy was trying to ignore the feel of his hand on her body. He didn't mind; he was already planning to still his slow exploration. He wanted her body to slowly simmer for him, but he was willing to wait until they got back to his hotel for more than that.

He told her about Eleni, who had recently joined his ragtag band of demon slayers. She could read tealeaves and divine the future. Buffy told him about the two latest slayers they had found. By unspoken agreement, neither of them spoke about Spike.

Her cell phone suddenly rang. The ringer was turned off, but his hearing was acute enough that he could hear the vibrations. She frowned before removing it from her tiny evening bag and flipping it open.

'Giles, unless ---". Her eyes flashed and Angel was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of her anger. She mumbled a few words into the phone and her expression shifted to petulance. It was like taking a brief trip back through time and she was again the sixteen year old who had stolen his heart. She said a few more words and her face changed once again, this time showing only weariness and defeat.

"They need me." Her voice was completely flat.

It took Angel a minute to comprehend what she meant. "You have to go?"

"I have to be back in three hours, max. Some kind of ritual that needs to be stopped."

He felt like throwing something, railing against the unfairness of the world, but he didn't. Apparently, even forty-eight hours was too long for the world to spare them.

Even if they left right now, by the time they paid and got back to his hotel, they would have no time together. Having Willow teleport them wasn't really an option either. Buffy mentioned once that it left her with a splitting headache for an hour or so. She could fight like that (although it wasn't pleasant) but romance was out of the question.

He did the only thing he could do. He gave her a charming smile and told her quietly that if everything went well and the threat was taken care of quickly, they could meet after.

They both knew it was a lie. He didn't ask, but more than likely she was headed out of the country. And by the time she came back, he would most certainly be gone. The both knew that, but she gave him a watery smile anyway.

He reached out to touch her knee again. This time, there was no ulterior motive; he just wanted some small physical connection with her. It would probably be months before he saw her again. Plus there was always the unspoken possibility that this would be the last time he'd ever see her. Their lives weren't the safest.

She had shifted during her phone call, much more than Angel had realized and for a fraction of a second he didn't understand why it wasn't a pantyhose-clad knee his fingers were grazing. He stretched his fingers, feeling the thin lacy strap and all other thought disappeared except for the fact that she was wearing a garter belt.

The mental picture took all his attention. Buffy standing before him, in those strappy high-heeled sandals she was wearing, the stockings and a tiny lace garter belt and nothing else. He adjusted the picture slightly – she was also wearing that dark blue push-up bra that did delectable things to her cleavage. He came close to moaning out load.

His fingers were painting random designs on her inner thigh, his thumb occasionally pressing harder to create shading and texture. Buffy shivered slightly and Angel snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned. They were in the middle of an extremely expensive restaurant, people all around. He shouldn't be playing these kinds of games when anyone could see. He reached over and carefully adjusted her cloth napkin so that her entire lap was hidden from view. Then he once more slid his hand up her leg.

His fingertips were under the edge of her dress now and he slowly pushed the silk fabric up, letting the smooth cloth caress her skin. He had reached the top of her leg now, that soft crease of flesh. He could feel her tensing under his touch.

He leaned in, his mouth a scant inch from her ear. Her cheeks had colored and he could smell the smoky tang of desire. "Eat your dinner," he whispered.

Buffy blinked, trying to concentrate on his words instead of his teasing fingers. She blinked once more and then a seductive smile took hold. She picked up one of the prawns from her risotto, holding it carefully by the still attached tail shell. The tip of her tongue poked out and she slowly licked the body of the shrimp. Then she pursed her lips tightly around it and sucked it into her mouth, drawing out her actions with agonizing slowness. Angel came close to forcing her to her knees and making her wrap that succulent mouth around his now very hard cock. He managed to resist but only by closing his eyes. They opened again when he heard her loud slurp as she licked her fingers clean.

Obviously, the only solution was to up the ante.

He shifted his hand until he was softly stroking the edge of her panties. He could smell her arousal and knew that her flesh was a deep pink color. The color of a sunrise, he privately speculated, the heat between her legs warming him as surely as the sun warmed the earth. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she shifted her hips slightly in an effort to redirect his teasing fingers.

"No moving," he commanded. "No talking." Buffy's eyes darkened with lust and he watched as her teeth dug into her lip in order to prevent a moan.

"Everything all right?" asked the waiter.

"Delicious," responded Angel as he slipped one finger under the edge of her underwear. The coarse hair was slick with her juices. She opened her legs wider and he instantly stopped. "I told you to keep still."

Buffy soundlessly mouthed "Bastard," as he smirked.

He had switched to the front of her underwear, stroking lightly down the middle of her sex, teasing and tantalizing but avoiding any real pressure. Her hardened nipples were outlined by her silk dress and he could hear the quickening of her heart.

"Please." She breathed the word more than said it.

Angel had wandered the world for a quarter of a millennium, gained a conscience a century ago and still, little turned him on more than someone begging. He got off on the power of it and that fact that it was Buffy, strong, confident, independent Buffy doing the pleading was pretty much perfection. It was rare for her to be this vulnerable and he idly wondered next time they were in private, just how far he could make her go.

He slipped a finger under the edge of her panties, skimmed her swollen, soaking sex. "What do you want?"

"Touch me," her voice cracking with lust.

Angel smirked at her. "Seems to me I already am touching you. You're going to have to be more specific."

"Fingers. Fuck me now." Buffy's voice was breathy and insistent and Angel was almost spent by her raw need, need that was just for him. He pushed one long finger in up past the knuckle, pumping in out with slow intent even as her heart and breath quickened. Muscles quivered with tension, as her eyes unfocused. He watched the progression of a drop of sweat as it trailed past her collarbone down past the valley of her breasts.

A long drawn out moan began to escape from her lips as Angel leaned in. "Sssh. You don't want everyone to know what I'm doing, do you"?

Buffy trembled with effort but bit back her cry, even as he added another finger.

He plunged in and out faster now, her body reacting even more strongly. His entire hand was soaked and the ripe scent of her sex permeated his senses. Just as she began to pulse around him, he kissed her deeply, curling his fingers into that tiny spot of roughened texture that was guaranteed to make her come undone. He swallowed down her cries of ecstasy; let each shiver of her body travel through his own. When she finally came back to herself, he pulled away, smiling innocently at her.

Two minutes later, their waiter showed up, asking if they were done. Angel suspected that he had known exactly what was going on and had discreetly left them alone, but he didn't voice his suspicions to Buffy. Instead he asked if they could have the bill and the leftovers packed up. No sense wasting good food since neither of them had eaten much, albeit for different reasons.

"I'll go get the coats." Buffy gave him a devilish grin. "Especially since I don't think you're currently in a condition to stand."

Ten minutes later they were in the back of the restaurant, a few feet from Angel's car. In one fluid motion Buffy turned, dragging him into the shadows while she clasped her hands around his neck, pulling him down for a deep kiss. Their bodies were pressed as close together as possible, but somehow she managed to slip one hand under his coat.

She stroked his still hard cock right through his pants, the silk of his boxers sliding delightfully over his sensitized flesh. Each time, her palm swirled over the head, until he was moaning into her mouth just as she had done earlier.

"Let go," she whispered against his mouth. She held him while he shuddered against her.

A minute later, she was walking away, back towards him as she said something unintelligible into the cell phone. Her body seemed suddenly to glow as if she was the sun, and then she disappeared.

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"So, how is the bint?"

Angel turned, his scowl deepening to somehow also include his ears and eyes. Spike was completely nonplussed. Normally, the slayer was off limits as a topic for obvious reasons, but Angel was in a foul mood. True, as far as Spike knew, he was always in a mood when he returned from one of his jaunts to see her, but that could be chalked up to "I only got to fuck her thirty times and now I won't see be seeing the sunshine of my dour existence for months." This was different. And while Spike could not be categorized as patient under any circumstances, he had learned that the best way to deal with Angel when he got like this was to wait him out.

So instead of loosing one of the many comments fighting to leap off his tongue, he stretched back against the headboard, causing the coverlet to pool even lower on his hips.

One minute passed, then two. Finally, in a voice laden with disgust and horror, Angel spoke. "I fucked her in a restaurant."

"Was that the dessert course? Did the other patrons applaud the floor show?" All right, maybe that wasn't exactly holding his tongue, but a man had his limits when presented with a set up like that.

"Asshole."

Spike managed to keep any more comments to himself. Truthfully, he didn't see the problem. Unless…

"So she didn't get off on it?"

Angel gave him the very briefest of glares. Spike hadn't thought _that_ was the problem, the man could heat up an ice cube.

"Finally gave you the old what for? Decided that forehead was givin' her nightmares?" Angel rolled his eyes as Spike smirked.

"I should let her go. Let her find a real relationship, one with a future."

"That's what she told you? That she wanted some ponce wearing a jumper and two screaming brats?"

Angel shrugged uncomfortably.

"She's a big girl, not shy about speaking her mind. If she wants to kick you to the curb, she'll let you know." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Angel visibly turning the idea over in his head and the black mood lifting a bit.

"Come on. Get over on your stomach." Spike almost laughed out loud at Angel's thoroughly confused look. "You're tenser than the Pope at a strip club. Figured I'd help you out a bit."

Moments later, he was kneading the strong muscles of Angel's back, watching the way the oil made the black lines of Angel's tattoo glisten in the lamp light. Although hot pokers wouldn't get him to admit it, looking at his grandsire's arse wasn't exactly a chore.

His hands slipped a little lower and Angel let out a soft sigh. The truth was, Spike thought to himself, none of them would ever get what they wanted. Not even Buffy and she, at least, deserved more.

He hadn't seen Angel for months and he'd be gone again by the time Angel woke up. He'd gotten the call several hours ago, some kind of major nasty in one of those bleak Eastern European countries. They had tried a ritual but it hadn't taken. That was fine by him, he could use a bit of mindless violence. And, if things went well, maybe a tumble or three after.

And after? Well, he wasn't sure. He was thinking of disappearing again for a bit. He wouldn't say anything, but the truth was he understood Angel earlier. Living for stolen moments was its own kind of hell.

**Author's Note:**

> written for thecarlysutra's kinkathon.


End file.
